


JET PACK BLUES

by caandlelit



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Banter, Desi Character, Fights, Getting Together, Intimacy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overthinking, Pining, Rain, Stream of Consciousness, Tenderness, The Rituals Are Intricate, half desi matsukawa, kinda whumpy, lots of projection in this mf, yuuji god as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/pseuds/caandlelit
Summary: The walk home from the bar is silent.(a long few hours. after a lot of pain has accumulated, and many years have been spent wasted, they fight and they talk and they finally realize that it's mutual.)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 106
Kudos: 186





	JET PACK BLUES

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for 15k words of my deepest dreams i hope you relate homosexuals  
> thankyou to everyone that read the doc and encouraged me, thankyou to andrew garfield, thankyou to everyone i've ever had a crush on, thankyou to the god that doesnt exist  
> title from the best fall out boy song on the planet  
> my [matsuhana playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/64yGVPNvuQK9t8IX9WLHj6?si=__kC2eQ6QFi9kjKBh8HAPQ) will set the tone but the verse below is enough i think  
> lets fuckin gooo

_(I spoke to you in cautious tones_

_You answered me with no pretense_

_And still I feel I said too much_

_My silence is my self-defense_

_Marianas Trench - So It Goes)_

  
  
  
  


The walk home from the bar is silent. 

There's a space between their shoulders that only appears once in a while. 

The issue is that they never really fight. Takahiro can't even remember the last time he was genuinely pissed at Issei, or the other way around. 

So right now he feels unsettled and anxious and he doesn't know how to handle it.

But Takahiro thinks that even if it were a more common occurrence he would still never get used to the absolutely _jarring_ feeling of the gap between his and Issei's shoulders.

He wouldn't call himself codependent. He just doesn't like it when some part of him isn't touching Issei, and he thinks that fighting with him is the worst kind of torment the world could possibly throw at him.

Takahiro doesn't even know if this can be classified as a fight yet.

He labels it as a pre-fight in his head and scuffs his heel against the sidewalk.

Sure, there can be silence between them, and there often is. Takahiro talks in long bursts and then he gets tired and Issei usually says whatever needs to be said, and while they can talk shit for hours, just as easily they can be quiet together. 

He appreciates that.

They'll be sitting in the same room, Takahiro working on a commission and Issei going through his email and there will be a relaxed, comfortable silence. 

They could be eating dinner together after work, too tired to speak and cleaning up afterwards and knowing nothing needs to be said, at ease in each other's company.

They've walked home together a billion times over years and almost half of them were silent, too exhausted from school or work to joke around, just leaning on each other quietly.

But this isn't the good kind of silence.

It's got that shitty kind of tension, up in the air and thick enough to feel, when someone's fucked up and Takahiro is pretty sure it's him. 

The city never sleeps at night, car horns loud and blaring and people talking as they walk by and he pretends it makes up for the lack of warm banter.

He stares at the ground in front of his feet as they walk and knows Issei is looking straight ahead.

His footsteps make the slightest _taptaptap_ noise against the concrete. Issei's are quiet, because growing up he'd trained himself to be soundless.

He wonders idly if Issei will let him take care of the scrapes on his fingers.

His ears are still ringing with the sound of Makato calling him a cheater, a mixture of emotions, shame and guilt and a bone deep tiredness.

He kicks at the grey concrete moodily. 

Same shit as always.

Takahiro glances up and off the pavement, letting his gaze linger on the blood dripping from Issei's knuckles, his rolled up button up shirt sleeves and his strong arms for the very barest of seconds.

His eyes climb up higher and he takes in the curl of his fringe as it falls over his forehead, the crease between his thick eyebrows, the gleam of streetlights and the neon orange and purple of storefronts and adboards streaking over his cheekbones and strong nose.

His skin looks so layered and he looks so lovely and Takahiro's artist's mind is losing it and his hands itch.

All the multicolored lights and deep shadows define him, bring him into focus and it suddenly hits Takahiro that he probably knows this man more than anyone else does and he still isn't as close as he wishes. 

Curled up inside his heart, that's where Takahiro would like to be. 

Maybe he's a selfish guy. Does it really matter, if he doesn't have the courage to ask? To change things?

He swallows, and looks away before dark eyes can catch him.

  
  
  
  


He's in the kitchen, busy sticking a spoon into that tub of vanilla and chocolate chip ice cream he's been saving for the past couple weeks. It sinks in and makes that satisfying _crrch_ noise. He sits down cross-legged on the counter.

The marble is cool against his bare legs and through his thin boxers and he lifts the spoon to his mouth. 

His teeth quickly go cold from the ice cream and he licks at a melted chocolate chip stuck to his spoon and if Takahiro zones out hard enough, focuses on the white noise of the city outside, he can even block out the sound of Issei in the living room on the phone arguing with one of their friends over Takahiro’s latest shitty breakup.

Latest shitty breakup with yet another man that ended up being incomparable to him. 

Takahiro thinks it's pretty sad that he doesn't know that little fact because it's probably the only funny part of the whole ordeal, that he's the reason for it all. 

Then he catches the bags under his blank eyes in the reflection of the shiny metal spoon, remembers that Issei taped up his fingers alone, and he remembers that it isn't funny.

He squints at the spoon and decides to stop trying to joke about it. It's never worked.

The issue is best summarized like this; as of this morning when he'd told him about the breakup, which had happened two weeks ago, Akinori and Takahiro haven't been on speaking terms, because some way into the conversation they fell upon the topic of the love Takahiro's been nursing for Issei for way too long, and Akinori thinks he and Issei are meant to be and that his cycle of shitty boyfriends is gonna end up with someone crying. 

Takahiro had told him through tears that it's him, Akinori, it's quite literally him that's crying, but Akinori had just hung up. Pretty rude, but he gets it.

And while he knows they'll both be over it in a few days and right now they need to cool down, and that it's also kind of on him for calling him a stupid bitch, he wishes they weren't mad at each other right now because god knows he needs the emotional support.

At a particularly loud sentence he confirms that it's Hajime that Issei's on the phone with. He's muffled from the distance between the kitchen and the living room and from how deeply zoned out Takahiro is, but he's speaking in that quick half Urdu half Hindi dialect that they've perfected over the years. 

Takahiro always finds it unreasonably hot whenever he speaks in Urdu but it goes deeper than that. 

Something about it, lovely and rough sounding syllables, outwardly coarse but tender and sweet underneath, the cussword meanings that leave _him_ wide eyed and the contrasting poetry Issei'd recited for him once that had him absolutely flushed, reminds him of Issei himself. 

_Coarse yet lovely_ , he thinks, and eats another spoonful of vanilla chocolate chip. 

Within the minute he hears that sigh Issei always lets out right after he hangs up. 

He dislikes phone calls. It's because he can't throw people off with his poker face when it's over the phone. 

He always makes an exception for Takahiro though, because he knows he can't throw him off anyways. 

And Takahiro hates making him hurt like this but he doesn't think he can stop the downward spiral he's been falling down, watching himself ruin everything like it's a particularly boring movie with no sound. 

Issei walks into the kitchen and steps into the light as it floods in from the lamppost outside in the shape of their window. It's dull and orange tinted and makes him look firmer, presses a flat orange-gold overlay against the lines of his body, paints brightness into his dark, tired eyes.

For the split second that he stands in the light he looks gold-plated, a demigod figure, a holy sight. Takahiro wants to take a picture and never show anyone.

The sleeves of his tight old faded band shirt are shoved up to his elbows, forearms bared again like he's ready for a fistfight, which Takahiro supposes he always is, just a little.

He stops in front of Takahiro and he hesitates for a second before stepping into his space, and that breaks his heart better than anything else could.

'Want some?' Takahiro asks, tilting the tub in offering and ignoring everything that's happened this evening.

It comes back in quick, blinding flashes, like he's stuck getting his mugshot taken but the camera keeps clicking and it won't stop.

The very rough breakup with yet another boyfriend of two months, going to a bar and Issei's dark eyes following Takahiro's movements and the bass thrumming through his veins. 

He'd felt like he was a teenager at a houseparty and that everything was possible for one blissful hour with his favorite pair of eyes watching him.

And then _he'd_ shown up and sneered at Issei, the face of every person Takahiro has ever dated in that look directed at his best friend they could never be better than.

Drunken shouts from Makato about the nature of their relationship and the cold fire in Issei's eyes when he'd called Takahiro a whore, a cheating bastard. The fists, the blood dripping from Issei's knuckles, the bouncers kicking them out.

 _'Wish I'd thrown the first punch,_ ' Issei had said, jaw set, and the rest of the walk had been silent.

Takahiro wiggles the tub impatiently, sick of reliving the night in its shitty flashes, irritated at the lack of reaction. He can't stand it when Issei doesn't react.

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, face still carved from marble and he's like a fucking Greek god no matter what lighting.

Takahiro offers him the barest of shrugs in carefully careless response and continues eating the ice cream.

Issei is quiet for a moment, then shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats and is quiet some more.

Takahiro knows about silence with Issei because it's _him_ but this one isn't comfortable, no matter how much he pretends it is. So he breaks it.

'What's Hajime saying,' Takahiro asks politely.

A short pause.

'He says you're a stupidass motherfucker and you've gotta stop trying to compete with me for dumbest friend because you're still not gonna win,' Issei recites. 

'There is no way he said that,' Takahiro mutters. 

Issei's eyes slide away for a second and come back as he says grudgingly, 'Yeah, it was a bit meaner.' 

'Mm.' He suddenly misses Hajime and Tooru and their constant bickering. It's too fucking quiet when he and Issei fight. 

'Also he hopes we're eating healthy,' he says belatedly.

Takahiro shrugs.

'Alright,' he says, disinterested. He swallows around more vanilla ice cream. It's the first thing he's eaten all day.

Issei slams his fist against the cupboard above him and it bursts out of him quick and fierce and low, like lava. 'For fuck's sake, Hiro, do you have to do this every time?'

He knew it was coming so he doesn't even startle, takes another long lick of overly drippy vanilla, ignoring Issei's forearm next to his head.

In his most practiced bored tone, he replies, 'I don't know what you mean.'

Takahiro waits for the frustrated groan, the clenching of his jaw, then the 'For fuck’s sake, gimme that,' and even in this state he still feels a little burst of glee, like every other time he proves to himself that he knows Issei.

He doesn't get why he still needs to prove it to himself again and again but there it is. 

Issei wrenches the spoon from his hand, still dripping ice cream as he tosses it at the sink, clanging against cool steel and it's too loud in the middle of this already walking-on-eggshells night. 

'I was eating, though,' Takahiro protests halfheartedly, as Issei takes the tub and caps it, puts it back in the freezer and he’s angry with him but he’s still impossibly gentle somehow, worry and cautiousness written into his every movement and the lines of his body.

'Dumbass,' Issei mutters, sharper than usual, but he doesn't let it sting.

Takahiro fucking hates when he gets like this, silent and pissed and body simmering as he tries to keep his rage under control but he knows it's always been his fault, every time. 

He sighs and drops his legs, makes to get off the counter but Issei is there again, a wall, the immovable object to Takahiro’s unstoppable force. 

'Move.'

'No,' he replies, and his voice is so tired.

The eye contact feels heavy and real and like it's something that matters and the proximity has him woozy in the head. 

It never gets old, being this close to him. Issei's eyes are the most comforting thing he's ever seen.

And Takahiro wishes at every shooting star, every 11:11 pm, every goddamned eyelash to be allowed to wrap his arms around Issei and bury his face in his warm chest and cry into his shirt and be sure that Issei would love him at the end of all things but there's that lingering voice at the back of his empty head taunting _he won't he won't he won't not when he finally figures out that you love him._

Their boundaries are impossible to make out for anyone else but Takahiro is vividly aware of every inch of the smudged chalk and knows what he can and can't do.

More accurately, what he won't _let_ himself do. 

Because sure Issei'd let him cry into his stupid worn t-shirt but it wouldn't _mean_ anything, not in the way that matters to him right now.

So he doesn't, and instead just sighs and shoves him to the side and goes for the kitchen door, morbidly figures the window of their third floor apartment is too high to be an escape route that counts.

'Is that how you're gonna be, then?' Issei calls out, following and pushing and just making it harder on the both of them. 

'Just leave it, Issei.' 

'No.'

'Leave it.'

'No.'

Takahiro spins around and shoves him back, trying to push him away in a way he’s failed to do a billion times over the years and repeats, ' _Leave it,_ Issei. Who cares, blah blah, he cried I cried he punched you and you punched back, who bloody fucking _cares_ it's over.'

'God, Hiro, this isn't _about_ that clown,' Issei says frustratedly, his hands up and fingers tense and curled in the air like he’s trying to reach for him but Takahiro knows he’s the one that's _reaching_.

Takahiro wishes he had the humor left in him to laugh at Issei's consistent need to make fun of all the people he dates but after all these years it's lost its meaning and the fluttery feeling went from butterflies to twisting and hot in his belly to a tired pain in his chest because turns out it's just _friend_ jealousy laid out like the blueprints to a glass house, plain and simple.

It’s gotta be, because why else hasn't he ever _done_ anything. 

Takahiro would've killed for just a fucking hint back when it felt possible, but he doesn’t expect much anymore because he’s the one that taught Issei that goddamn poker face. 

'Or the billion others before him,' Issei says, and it's vicious purely because he knows that’s the only thing Takahiro will react to when they get like this. He'd never let himself say anything that'd hurt Takahiro otherwise. 

Takahiro shoves him roughly in the chest again and he doesn't even budge and the worn black fabric is unfairly familiar under his fingertips and his chest is solid and he spits, 'Fuck off and just _leave it alone,_ Issei,' because god help him if they get into this he'll break, he'll spill, and he'll end up losing this.

He wishes sometimes that he wasn’t so fragile when it comes to this one man, but he supposes that’s what makes it special, and that’s what’s been so impossible for him to find in anyone else. 

Not for lack of trying of course, which is unfortunately the reason they're fighting, the issue he’s been doing his damndest to avoid thinking about for the past two years. 

Issei grabs his wrists on their way back and his grip is bruising. 'Takahiro.' 

He likes saying names, Takahiro's noticed that. 

He commented on it once, and Issei had said that he thinks names are a good solid way to make people feel seen. It has to do with his parents and the little brothers that relied on him and the giant empty rooms at the Matsukawa estate he's yet to sell and the unsigned notes on the otherwise unadorned fridge but Takahiro hates psychoanalyzing him. 

It's part of the way he thinks, though he wishes it wasn’t. He meets someone and no matter who they are Takahiro will be noting things down and figuring out whatever he can out of a compulsive need to make it easier to navigate conversations, easier to get a reaction, easier to keep them engaged. 

It always just makes people boring, in the end.

And Issei, despite Takahiro having worked his hardest to figure him out and done his best to understand what makes him tick, despite being the person Takahiro knows best, knows by heart, has _never_ been boring. 

Takahiro hates whenever he’s insecure and he wishes he knew that he’s never bored him. Not even once. Probably because he is deeply, irrevocably, horrifically in love w

'Takahiro,' and it's slower, more deliberate, and he says it so tenderly that it’s a physical pain lodged in his chest. 

He repeats harshly, 'It doesn't matter, Issei.'

His grip tightens and Takahiro tries to turn and tug himself away and run, but Issei pulls him back from the escape of the half open glass door to the balcony, tugging him around and making Takahiro face him, closer than before, still clutching his wrists like a vice. 

_Like magnets,_ he thinks. 

His eyes are dark and serious and his thick, oil black eyebrows are creased, and he looks so worried and pained, so earnest.

'Of course you matter, Hiro, _jaani_ , you matter. This fucking matters.' 

His hands feel warm and solid around Takahiro's wrists and he lets his wrists go limp in his hold. 

His tan fingers are darker from how the lights are all off, a single strip of orange from the streetlight outside across his forearm from the open window.

The contrast between their skin has him needy for more of it but what has him fucking reeling is the difference between his cold, slack and pale hands and Issei's strong, warm grip.

Issei probably hasn't even noticed but both his calloused thumbs are massaging slow, soothing circles against the joints of his wrists.

Takahiro's cracked, split lips part from how calming it is and he shuts his eyes for a second and allows himself to _feel._

Then he opens them and takes in a shuddering breath.

'’M sorry I'm worrying you, Issei, but it's fine, alright-'

'What, you running around from person to person like it's some sick game, like you're gonna die if you don't?'

Takahiro huffs and it's broken and scratchy and bitter even to his ears. 'I might just.'

 _'Why_?' Issei asks, and he sounds so frustrated and oh, that's new. He's never asked why before. 

Takahiro hadn't known he cared.

'Why what,' Takahiro says as bored as he can, blinking back the quiet surprise and hoping he shuts up.

'Why do you keep jumping from relationship to relationship like you need it or it’s the end of the world? Why do you act like it doesn't matter when you cry about it? Why do you do this to them and, shit, fuck them, Hiro, why do you do it to yourself?'

 _This motherfucker never lets me get away with anything_ , he thinks to himself blankly. 

He’s lying through his teeth, Issei lets him get away with too much.

He yanks his wrists back, head swimming, black spots dancing in his vision from the abrupt movement and he shoves past Issei.

He goes for the balcony because he’s needed air for the past hour, day, week, year, and if he has to keep looking at his stupid honest-face Takahiro will either punch him or kiss him and he knows which is worse.

Behind him, Issei groans, following after him, relentless, dependable. 'Can we please talk this out? It's so stupid and you know how I- You _know_ how worried I am.'

He does, and that's the only reason he lets Issei join him at the terrace. 

He stays silent for a bit, leaning on the painted metal bars and staring out at the city, trying to figure out how to explain his shit without Issei figuring out that the real reason beneath it all is him.

Issei lets him, waits for him, and Takahiro can feel his heavy gaze on the side of his face.

'Because I fucking _need_ to, alright,' he says after an age. 'You just- you don't understand, it's so goddamn hard to find something real, find love _,_ someone that I fit with but I need to. I really really need to. I can’t tell y- can't explain it.' 

It's proving itself true time over time however, that there is just simply no replacement for Issei, and no one better. 

Issei exhales, and runs a hand over his face and says tiredly, ‘God, you really need to learn how to take it easy, Hiro. Real love isn’t _running_ from you.’

‘But that’s the fucking thing, Issei, if it isn’t, why haven’t I found it yet?’ he asks and it comes out so broken and small.

Issei is silent, his forearms tense on the railing, fingers loosely steepled and Takahiro knows he’s staring at him with that fucking frail look on his face that he’s never been able to understand but right now he thinks it might be pity and that’s what makes him scoff roughly and roll his burning eyes, turning around to go back inside. 

Maybe he can finish the ice cream.

Issei follows, just a step behind, and tries to continue. 

‘Just- Why can’t you take it slow? You’ll find it, you’ll find someone, it doesn’t have to be that painful, jaani.’

If he says that fucking term of endearment one more time, _on god_ he's a dead man.

He'd started calling him jaan when they were in first year of high school and he'd never explained what it meant. Takahiro had found out from his little brother. Thirteen year old Kenta had spent a whole minute trying to explain the depth of love and culture in the word. 

_'It means- soul?' Kenta had tried. 'Spirit? Like- it's like love, or sweetheart or whatever but like- it's more, y'know?' His face had been helpless and he'd been gesturing vaguely like Issei does and his thick eyebrows, just like Issei's, had been furrowed in concentration._

_'It's really- basically it's just grossly sweet,' he'd said frustratedly. Then he'd laughed. 'I can't believe you thought it meant bitch.'_

Takahiro had been reassured a few panicked minutes later that sometimes people just called everyone jaani, a term of endearment that could be casual. 

But it went unsaid that this is Issei, and everything Issei does is deliberate. 

‘It’s been nothing but painful, though,’ he says blankly, opening the fridge door and pulling his ice cream tub out, pressing it to his heated temple as he looks for another spoon.

‘You can’t rush into these things. You have to relax and wait for it. Love is like-’ He stops and searches for the words, sinful mouth parting the way it does when he thinks. ‘Love is like this- this slow drive, alright, and you need to wait for it to come around, wait for the ride itself and just- just take it _easy_.’

Takahiro holds the cold tub to his aching head and watches his face as he stands in the middle of their tiny kitchen and tries to explain love to Takahiro, who’s been head over heels for him for a decade.

‘It’s not that simple,’ he says dully. 

‘Why can’t it be?’ Issei fires back, moving closer. ‘Why do you have to look for it so angrily, like- just relax and it’ll happen.’

‘Finding love isn’t something you do by relaxing,’ Takahiro says, sticking the spoon into the tub and exhaling at that satisfying _crrrch_ noise, trying to find calm things while Issei stands there with his gesturing hands and honest look.

He's so calming that he goes off the meter and into uncalming territory, making Takahiro off balance because he's confused between the gravity of the world and the gravity of _him_.

‘But it _is,_ ’ Issei insists. ‘You don’t find it by fucking around and trying to see it in people like fuckin’ _Mako_ , at the very least.’ 

Takahiro finds it in himself to snort weakly at the salt in his low voice and he mutters, 'It's Makato,' leaning against the kitchen island and poking idly at the ice cream with his spoon. 

'Whatever,' Issei says. ‘You can’t keep doing this.’

‘Sure I can, why can't I?'

‘Because you’re hurting yourself!' Issei shouts, sounding hoarse, and his voice level should be too much in the quiet of the night but something about everything that’s happening makes him sound like he’s underwater, heavy and blurred. 

He looks like he’s about to start pacing, pushes his sleeves up where they were starting to slide down, so serious, so honest, so easy to love.

Takahiro stares.

‘You won’t accomplish anything with the way you’re going, you’re just making yourself more and more bitter and you know it hurts you _and_ me, seeing you like this. You’re not happy, Hiro. You told me last time to not start this argument but how can I just stay shut when I- when you’re _hurting_ ,’ he finishes, pained.

Takahiro blinks, then swallows the lump in his throat because _god,_ how the fuck is he supposed to get over him when he won't stop fucking saying shit like that.

He inhales.

‘You gotta stop worrying about me Issei,’ Takahiro says. ‘It’ll be fine, I’ll be okay.’ He doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears. He raises a hand and waves it vaguely, trying to physically brush the situation off. ‘Just- I got this handled, alright? I can take care of myself, I know what I’m doing-'

‘No you fucking don’t!’ Issei interrupts loudly. ‘You- are you fucking kidding me, Hiro? Are you- c’mon. C'mon, gimme a fuckin' break-’ 

He breaks off and runs his hand over his face, groaning curses and he looks _so_ tired. 

Takahiro watches him, quietly feeling like shit.

Issei shuts his eyes for a long moment, and Takahiro watches his throat bob as he swallows then says, feeling small, ‘I’m sorry.’

Issei drops his hand and gazes at him, still standing in the middle of the kitchen and Takahiro doesn't know how that's possible but his soft, dark eyes soften further. 

‘It’s okay, jaan, don't- don't say sorry to me, but-’ He stops and exhales, then says, ‘Just- just take care of yourself. Please. This isn’t looking for love it’s just- it’s just fucking stupid, that’s not love, it’s not. Love makes you happy, Hiro, it's not-’ he gestures vaguely at him, in his sleep deprived, boxers and t-shirt glory, clutching a melting tub of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. ‘Not _this_.’

He looks exhausted, staring at Takahiro with that tender, confusing and faraway look in his eyes, that he just can't understand, that always makes Takahiro wonder what he’s seeing, what he’s thinking about.

 _Or who he’s thinking about,_ says that fucking voice. 

His head throbs suddenly, his pulse is confusingly audible and for a moment, the world is hung still.

‘Why,’ Takahiro says slowly, then stops and wets his dry lips. 

There’s a lump in his throat that’s been growing for ten years in the making. 

He feels oddly sick all of a sudden, and he clutches the counter, trying to catch his balance.

Issei furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly, and repeats, ‘Why? Why what? What's wrong?’

Takahiro sets the ice cream on the kitchen counter and sticks the spoon in the center of the tub, where it stays like the sword in the stone or something else out of its proper time and place.

'Hiro-?'

'Issei.'

Issei looks caught then, wide, dark, deer in headlights eyes. 

‘Why're you preaching,’ he says, voice just under trembling, walking closer, 'like you know what love is?’

Takahiro stops just an inch from his face and stares up at him, searching his gaze. 

Issei swallows and his eyes, helpless and dark and dilated and stuck on Takahiro, say it all.

Takahiro steps back.

 _‘Fuck_ ,’ he says heavily, hollowly. ‘You-’

Issei reaches for him and says, too late, 'Hiro, listen-’

Takahiro jerks back and stares at him, eyes wide. 

Issei is in love with someone. 

He can hear the blood rushing in his ears and he feels sort of light headed. His mind won’t move past that terrifying realization.

Issei is in love with someone.

Issei reaches forward, more hesitantly this time and then there's a wounded, terrified look in his eyes as Takahiro jerks back again and he clenches his fists and _even now_ Takahiro feels like shit for hurting him.

Issei is in love with someone.

 _He's gonna be sick_. 

‘Wh-?’ he starts faintly, then shakes his head violently. _Who?_ He can’t hear it, can’t even stand to think about it, he's swallowing down bile at the idea of it.

He stares up at Issei again and knows he looks betrayed, wishes he could control how he looks right now but he’s too unbalanced, on the border of unhinged. 

_More importantly_ , he realizes, _Issei is in love with someone else._

Issei wets his fuckin' mouth then says scratchily, sounding pleading, almost, as he leans in closer, takes a step towards him, ‘Takahiro, jaan, listen-’ 

Takahiro holds up a hand and he falls silent, gaze darting from the hand to Takahiro’s eyes, heavy lips parted and worried. 

_'Don't_ ,' he chokes out, words fighting their way up his throat and for some reason the winning sentence is 'Don't call me- _jaan_ when you-' 

Issei's eyes widen and Takahiro watches his face shutter.

His hand falters and he cups his throat, feeling out for his pulse. It's there, and he nods slightly to himself.

When you love someone else, he can't finish.

What do you mean you’re in love with someone, he wants to ask. What the _fuck_ do you mean, that you feel the kind of all-consuming love I feel but it isn’t for me, what the fuck do you _mean_?

It's unreasonable that his heart can still be beating when his world has been ripped away from underneath him.

They stand there and Takahiro feels like they're twins, in that they both know how it _feels_. 

He feels sliced open to the bone and on display while Issei stands there and holds the knife with his long fingers and he's sure Issei feels like that too but he doesn't feel bad for him right now.

 _Fuck_ _him_ , Takahiro thinks suddenly, viciously, repeating it like a deranged chant in his head.

_fuck him fuck him fuck him fuck him fuck h_

He feels faint. It's still sinking in and his feet are rooted to the ground and holy fucking shit Issei's hands are _shaking_. 

They're hovering by his side and they're usually so steady but right now they are trembling and Takahiro wants to hold them and make them go still.

He hasn't tried to touch him again, and Takahiro's throat is full of words that he can't articulate.

Issei looks broken, panicked, usually lidded eyes still wide as he starts speaking but Takahiro can't hear a single word he's saying, he's too focused on his deer in headlights eyes and wants to be the one driving the car.

 _Move,_ he tells his feet. _Move!_

His toe twitches and he blinks and comes awake.

Issei's words spill in like a quiet flood, falling over themselves out of his plush mouth, '-Hiro, please, listen to me it's not what you think, just listen to me I’d never act upon it I swear, please _-'_

Takahiro wants to punch him in the mouth so that it bleeds.

Why, he wonders, is he the one hurt. Why is he the one sounding desperate when Takahiro has been in love with him for so long that he doesn't remember what it felt like to _not_ love him. 

Why is he the victim. 

No answer, the voice seems to have decided it's done for the night.

He can't even tell what Issei is saying, everything blurring together.

Takahiro shakes his head wordlessly, and Issei stops talking and stares at him. 

'Hiro,' he rasps, helpless, and Takahiro raises his hand again to gesture for him to shut up. 

It is deathly quiet and Takahiro hates it intensely. 

He's an open wound and Issei is pouring salt all over him and getting it all up and in his blood sticky insides with his big rough shaking hands, ruining him.

'Don't-' he chokes on it, drowns. 'Don't say shit to me now.' 

The last thing he sees before he walks out the kitchen is Issei hunching over, hands coming up to run through his hair, eyes wide and expression absolutely miserable.

  
  
  
  


In under five minutes he's out the fire escape, jeans and shoes slipped on as fast as he could manage with his phone and a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, Issei still in the kitchen and unaware.

He isn't loud about it because he's just too tired of his honest face, his panicked face, his in love face.

His _in love_ face _._

Holy fuck, Takahiro wishes he hadn't figured it out.

He practically jumps the last few steps, hits the ground running. 

Takahiro sprints for the first two streets to get the fuck away from the apartment he shares with him.

He slows down to a jog when he feels himself sweating, calves starting to ache. 

His sneakered feet pounding on the ground, his head aching, he focuses on any noise possible, cars honking at him and people exclaiming as he bumps into shoulders, eyes unseeing.

After a while he realizes how tired he is and he almost trips, lightheaded and dizzy, so he slows down.

Takahiro walks aimlessly for ages, everything dark and neon. He ignores the people. He's numbly grateful for the loud, wide atmosphere, thankful he lives in the city, thankful it isn't closed up and stifling.

Then he remembers who he lives with and his world shrivels up again.

He pulls out his phone when his feet get too tired to ignore and ignores the missed calls from Issei that he'd let ring in his pocket, and scrolls through his notifications to tap the call button for Yuuji. 

And his legs are tired so he sits down on the pavement in front of some white lit convenience store, watches late night cars whiz by on the road, focuses on the loud engines.

He wishes there was more noise because his ears are still ringing and he doesn't wanna hear that shit.

He's like ten feet away from a gutter and has never felt like this much of a fucking loser, as much of a fucking deadweight then right now.

He lights a cigarette and only gets to listen to two cars drive past till Yuuji picks up and says blearily, 'Wha' happened.'

'Well,' Takahiro replies after exhaling smoke. He shrugs, even though he can't see him.

He focuses on streetlights in the distance and takes another hit.

The nicotine makes his hands feel less shaky, at the very least. 

'Takahiro?'

He feels the first raindrop on his cheekbone and sighs raggedly, smoke curling around his face. 

He wishes someone could see how shit he looks right now. This'd make for a great art exam series. Title: 'rock bottom.' All lowercase.

'Ayo, Takahiro.'

He sighs again.

'Yeah, I’m here. Just- one reason I shouldn't walk into a car,' he jokes weakly. 

Yuuji snorts.

It's an old inside joke from college, when they'd roomed together before they dropped out and had both been vaguely dark humored and Yuuji was doing medical and Takahiro was unfairly far away from Issei so those kinda jokes were just gonna happen. 

One of them asks why they shouldn't step into traffic and the other offers some half-assed joke reason to lighten the mood.

'We still haven't drunkenly fucked yet,' Yuuji says, sounding muffled, shuffling sounds like he's getting out of bed. 

'Get outta here,' Takahiro says, a faint smile making its way onto his face. 'We haven't? Are you making coffee?'

'Yeah,' he says. 'The thought of your sexy ass was keeping me up anyways.'

'Doesn't it always?' 

'Yessir. Straight up turned me into an insomniac,' Yuuji replies, then snickers at himself. 

'That isn't even funny, I don't even get where the joke is,' Takahiro says confusedly, eyes following another car screeching past. The highway is slowly getting wetter, water pooling in dips and dents and he hopes he doesn't end this night getting a puddle splashed on his face. That'd be the cherry on top of his sundae of pain. ‘Where’s the funny, I don’t see the funny.’

'Nah,' he says. 'Everything I say is funny.'

'Tell me a joke then,' Takahiro demands. God knows he needs Yuuji's relaxed outlook right now.

Yuuji makes a thinking noise. 'What do you call a cow with two legs?'

Takahiro blinks and stares at the asphalt.

'Lean beef?' he tries.

'Yo mama,' Yuuji says. 

'I'm gonna fucking hang up,' Takahiro says, choking on the laugh as it bubbles up his throat, past the words he's choked down.

'Why're you _laughing_ bruh, that was so shit.'

Takahiro feels more drops on the back of his heated neck and he's grateful for the rain, actually. It'll override the sweat and the headache.

He puts the cigarette out on the concrete and sticks the butt in his pocket. 

'Why is it always yo mama jokes, don't you have any daddy jokes?' Takahiro asks.

'I mean, when they find yo' daddy, I'm sure they'll think of some,' he says and Takahiro hangs up to his crowing laughter.

Yuuji calls and he rejects it, then he calls again and he rejects, and the third time Takahiro picks up and he's still laughing.

'You're sick,' Takahiro tells him. 'I literally don't have a dad. He literally left. You know all this. I've cried to you about it while stoned out of my mind. You're a sick, sick man,' and Yuuji laughs harder and chokes on his, 'Oh _shit,_ fuck _,_ I'm _sorry-'_ and Takahiro shakes his head, grinning.

After a second, his grin slips.

'So what's up, man?' Yuuji says when he's done.

'Nothing. Issei's just in _love_ with someone,' he blurts out, and the rain gets faster and he shoves his hand in his pocket so he doesn't cut his palms with how hard he was digging his nails into flesh. 'That's- uh. Yeah, that's all.'

'Jesus _fuck_ ,' Yuuji says after a moment. 'Uh- right, where are you, Takahiro?'

'Man,' he says. 'There's so many possible replies. But 'm on the sidewalk, y'know.'

'That is the singular most useless answer ever. D'ya need me to come get you?' Yuuji asks. 

And god, he knew he made the right decision calling Yuuji. Barring Issei, he's Takahiro's closest friend. He loves Hajime and Tooru, and Akinori is probably his soulmate on some level but he and Yuuji went through a lot together, dropped out together, he was there for him through every breakdown and vice versa and getting your first tattoo with someone probably means a lot.

Takahiro hums. 'No,' he decides. 'Just started raining, I'm having my shitty rock bottom indie movie moment. I think I'm good. He keeps fucking calling me,' he adds at the end, feeling a little hysterical. 

'That's okay,' Yuuji says. 'I'd give you five stars, don't worry, hottie. Send me your location anyways, so I feel better.' 

'Yeah alright, just say you want me in your bed,' Takahiro says weakly.

'How many times will I say it till ya believe me,' Yuuji says lightly. 'Send your location, man.'

Takahiro shares his location and Yuuji hums over the line.

Takahiro hears him typing and rolls his eyes. _What a sucker_ , he thinks.

'Uh- what kinda movie is it?'

Takahiro exhales. He isn't subtle, but Takahiro is grateful for the distraction. 

'Well,' he says. 'The age limit for a coming of age film has come and gone, hasn't it.'

'You still _look_ like a nineteen year old though,' Yuuji says. 'When's the last time you had to shave?' and Takahiro replies with 'Eat my ass.'

'Probably the saddest movie in the world,' he reckons before Yuuji can say something horrifically flirtatious. 'Low budget. Three whole hours long. About a sad little man who's been in love with his best friend for like, ten years and counting.'

'Takahiro,' Yuuji says, 'You should've told me you felt that w-'

'Eat my _ass,_ Yuuji.'

'Dollface, I would _love_ to,' he says delightedly, and Takahiro laughs again, brighter than before.

'You're so full of shit,' Takahiro says. Yuuji sniggers.

'I'm not gonna make the joke I wanna make here.'

'Please don't,' Takahiro says immediately, cringing. He can't help the slight giggle that bubbles up, and Yuuji just laughs harder.

'Hey. Look on the bright side,’ he offers, after he's done snickering. ‘At least you're sexy, ammiright?'

Takahiro nods, mouth twisting. 'At least I'm sexy,' he echoes dryly.

There's silence for a minute. He can hear a loud song booming on someone's speakers in the distance, and tries to focus on the lyrics but the rain is so relentless he can't hear anything but static and a muffled beat over the lightning and the downpour.

He doesn't really mind.

'So.. who is it,' Yuuji asks finally. 

'I don't _know,'_ Takahiro says, broken.

He pauses, and Takahiro hears his breathing over the line and it's easy to focus on.

Above his head, thunder crashes and the rain gets faster, his back is soaked and his chest is freezing.

'Are you-' Yuuji starts. Takahiro hears him sigh, and furrows his brows, hair soaked and thin streams of rainwater riveting down his face.

At least he can't hear his heartbeat in his ears anymore, he figures. 

'Takahiro, are you sure it isn't you,' he says bluntly. 

Takahiro tips his head back, shuts his eyes and exhales.

Thing is, Takahiro hasn't even bothered entertaining that thought yet. 

Because if it isn't him, shouldn't Issei have _told_ him? He's the person Issei trusts most and knows best and is closest to and logically speaking he should already know about this, and he's aware that a very small degree of the endless hurt he feels is from not knowing who it is, not being trusted.

Possibly, he decides, possibly Issei _knows_ Takahiro is in love with him, and that's the reason he never told him. To spare his feelings. 

Suddenly he's a hundred percent sure that if he calls Tooru and Hajime up right now they'll know exactly who it is and will probably refuse to tell him, and he instantly feels a billion times shittier, head pounding worse, fingers tight around the phonecase Issei bought him.

 _But what if,_ he trails off. _What if?_

Takahiro sits on the edge of the sidewalk, rain soaking through his thin white shirt, hand clenching and unclenching in his pocket. He covers his phone as best as he can and hopes the waterproof case works, stares at the puddle reflecting his pale face and considers.

His face is wet and he keeps shivering, legs cold, socks soggy, hands grimy. everything shit.

His head is throbbing painfully and he hasn't eaten all day and he wishes he'd had the foresight to take a jacket at the very least.

He opens his eyes. The sky is so dark and the rain is relentless, and he clamps them shut again.

'Probably isn't,' Takahiro says bitterly. 'Why would it be.'

Yuuji groans instantly. 

'For fuckssake- who the fuck _else_ could it be?' he demands, voice crackling over the line. 'Who else is _there_? Think about it, man, I mean, you guys are practically married, you live together, you're so close, so-' He stops and Takahiro hears him swallow. 'I don't have that with _anybody._ Who else would he ever _possibly_ feel like that for?' 

Takahiro doesn't have a response.

'Fuckin' use that big brain, dipshit, who else is _there_?'

Takahiro scoffs wetly. 'Maybe it's _you_ ,' he mutters weakly.

Yuuji chokes on his laugh and that's enough response.

'Yeah, yeah,' Takahiro says moodily.

'Takahiro, man, he doesn't even _like_ me _,'_ Yuuji laughs. 

'Yes he does, stop laughing, asshole.' It's not even funny, Takahiro thinks. He gets _why_ , but he doesn't understand _how_ Yuuji manages to turn everything that hurts him into something funny. Takahiro knows he was hurt by how Issei didn't like him at the start, but they're good friends now.

'Oh, I wonder why your best friend who loves someone spent a wholeass year refusing to like me, your only other friend,' Yuuji jeers.

'You're bad at sarcasm,' Takahiro informs him, head tilted up at the sky, eyes shut as the rain pours down. 'And you wore him down, so don't even worry about it.'

'I never worry about anything. Also, wrong. I'm amazing at it and everything else.'

'Okay.'

'Shut up,' Yuuji says, and Takahiro snorts.

'And I _have_ other friends,' he adds after a minute. 'Tooru and Hajime, and. Like. Akinori.'

'Aren't you and Aki-chan in a fight?' Yuuji says, grin audible in his voice and Takahiro wishes he was physically there so he could beat him up.

'Shut the hell up,' he says. How does he even know that?

'Sure,' Yuuji says agreeably. 'Let you and him be a possibility though.'

After a long moment, Takahiro nods and says defeatedly, 'Okay.' 

'The rain looks pretty bad outside,' Yuuji says, probably standing at his window. 'You gotta get back now, kid.'

'Stop calling me kid when I'm older than you,' Takahiro says. 'And better, and smarter.'

'Don't forget sexier. You're gonna be okay,' Yuuji says, adding the last bit just steadily enough to make Takahiro's shoulders sag and his eyes go wetter as he shuts them, another sob welling up in his throat.

When he's done choking it down, Takahiro wipes the salt from his cheeks and inhales shakily. 

He feels fucking cold and empty and stupid.

'You good?'

A pause. 'Yeah I guess,' he says. 

'Bruh, he's called me twice.' 

Just twice? He's lying. 

Takahiro appreciates the hint that he talked to him though. Unnecessary, because he knows Issei, but he still appreciates it.

Takahiro snorts wetly anyways. 'Really? But he hates you,' he teases. 

'Issei doesn't hate me, homeboy just can't stand that you like anybody but him,' Yuuji says like it's a cold hard fact. 

Takahiro groans. 

'Stop being so fucking annoying,' he says, voice rough, goosebumps up his freezing arms at the idea of Issei feeling anything for him.

'Nah,' he replies softly. 'I'm gonna hang up now, I've got a hot boy over.'

'Go ahead, you fucking liar,' Takahiro says. 'Like anybody'd ever fuck you.'

'You wish,' Yuuji says threateningly. 'You wish you were in his place. Call him,' and Takahiro sighs. 

'Yeah, yeah. Thanks, fuckface.' 

'No problem, pretty boy,' he says, then hangs up and Takahiro stares at his phone screen for a short minute of loud rain and honking cars and sweet sweet city noise till Issei's face pops up on the screen, calling. 

He knew he wouldn't have to call. The burst of glee is so weak it barely even counts.

Takahiro picks up and says, 'Hey.'

'What the fuck,' Issei says hoarsely. 'Jesus fuck, _god_ , you scared me-' and Takahiro rolls his eyes, sits there on the soaked pavement and watches the puddles on road reflecting purple cyan neon pink city lights as Issei mutters curses over the phone. 

Takahiro can hear him panting slightly and knows he's on his way to where Takahiro is sitting right now.

'You're insane,' he says point blank on the other end, after a few minutes of silence. His voice is broken.

'Sorry,' Takahiro replies, shrugging lightly. 'Needed a minute.'

'It's been _two hours_. I'm so sorry,' he says. 'I don't get wh- just, don't hate me when we talk, yeah?'

Like there's any universe where Takahiro hates him.

'Did you ask Yuuji for my location?' he asks instead of telling him that.

Issei huffs. 'Told him to get it,' he mutters, and Takahiro nods even though he can't see it.

What gave him the right, he wants to ask. 

Cause he's figured that before today he would've agreed that Issei has the right to ask anybody for information about Takahiro because it's them and he'd let him do anything, but how can Issei still treat Takahiro like he's Issei's when he loves someone else.

He's shivering and the rain hasn't let up and his bangs are stuck to his forehead and he sighs roughly. 

Issei makes this wounded little noise that Takahiro wouldn't have been able to hear if his phone wasn't pressed to his ear like a lifeline. 

At the same time, he hears footsteps that he hadn't realized he had focused on stopping abruptly, and lifts his head up.

Issei has his phone clutched loosely in his hand, still up to his ear. He has an umbrella in his other hand but, confusingly, it's not one of theirs. It’s neon orange and ugly as fuck and Takahiro has never seen it before in his life.

He's got on that slick materialled long black coat that defines his wide shoulders, zipper undone and hanging open and he's wearing the same shirt he was two hours ago. His dark wash jeans are soaked, clinging to his legs.

Takahiro is glad he didn't go looking for him in sweats, at the very least.

The rain ricochets off of his umbrella, it's so hard and fast and the umbrella is so eyesore-bright that it's almost like a halo, he's standing there frozen and tall like the angel of death and Takahiro will go so willingly.

Kind of fitting, what with the funeral director job description. Takahiro’s always liked the gloves that come with it. They mean he doesn’t have to stare at Issei’s hands so much.

His hair is dripping wet and sticking up at the back, like he's been running his hands through it with worry. 

His face is grief-stricken.

Takahiro would wonder when he figured out that Takahiro had left, how long he had spent looking in their neighborhood, how many people he'd called asking where he is.

But Issei knows Takahiro, and Takahiro knows him, so he knows that Issei only called his cell and Yuuji's, because he knows that he and Akinori are in one of their many week long non speaking periods and he knows that Takahiro would rather die than call Hajime or Tooru for this when they're both out of the country and that he'd never bother his sisters this late because Yukihara deserves the rest and Rei has college classes.

He's staring at Takahiro from across the road and Takahiro feels like he's Gwen Stacy and Issei is the Andrew Garfield Spiderman that he's falling for, except he's already fallen in every possible way and feels so beaten down that it's as good as if the bridge death scene's already happened too.

He wishes he were Mary Jane instead, because she lives, and she ends up with the guy, and she has a nice jawline.

At least he got Issei's first kiss, he reasons. Maybe it's even fair now, that for wasting so many years head over heels, at least he got that, got one of his firsts, was at least a little special to him. 

He blinks back to big nervous hands sliding up to cup his jaw and that little crooked grin Issei had given him, _just for practice you said, get it over and done with you said, don't chicken out on me, now, Hiro,_ he'd pulled him in with a fist in his hair, the deep breath Issei had taken right before their clumsy, chapped lips had slotted together for the best sunlit minute of Takahiro's life.

The memory is painful but so comforting considering the amount of times he's gone back to it, run it over in his hands like a lucky coin.

For the first time in months Takahiro lets himself soak in the sight of him instead of stealing furtive glances. 

Takahiro whispers into the phone, 'Hey, I gotta hang up, some weirdo won't stop staring at me.'

He manages a small grin as Issei says, 'Eat a dick,' and hangs up, shoving his phone in his pocket and crossing the street, crouching in front of him.

His eyes are so beautiful.

‘Where’d you get the umbrella?’ he says.

Issei angles his wrist so the umbrella is protecting all of Takahiro from the rain and his back is probably getting even more soaked than it was but if he’s uncomfortable he doesn’t show it.

‘Some guy saw me running around in the rain like a moron and he took pity, I guess,’ Issei answers. His eyes are red and swollen and Takahiro swallows the guilt.

‘Okay.’

'Ready to go home?' he asks casually, and Takahiro wants to beat the shit outta him.

So he shoves him back and Issei doesn't even budge, like he'd been expecting it. He nods, and Takahiro punches him in the jaw.

 _'Fuck!'_ His fist hurts and it wasn't even a good punch because of how delirious he feels.

Issei slowly gets to his feet and his borrowed umbrella slips to the ground and he gingerly touches his jaw, and then nods again, and when Takahiro scrambles up he takes the next few hits too. 

His knuckles slip against Issei's rain wet cheek and Takahiro doesn't realize he's crying again till Issei grabs his wrists and their hands are soaked and they should slip around his cold, wet skin but somehow Issei's hands are firm and solid again and he lets out a hiccup.

Issei tugs him closer and wraps a strong arm around his waist and his left cheek is bright red because Takahiro had gone for a slap in the middle somewhere and Takahiro doesn't go easily, tearing his wrists away.

He beats his fists against Issei's chest and sobs and hits the heel of his palm against his shoulder and kicks at his shins and Issei slides a big hand into his hair and gently, gently guides his head to rest in the crook of his neck. 

'I love you _,'_ he whispers raggedly, right in his ear, lips grazing skin and breath so warm and voice so deep and gravelly that Takahiro goes boneless, knees buckling because _fuck_ that hurts.

He vaguely registers Issei adjusting his forearm around Takahiro's waist firmer, the other hooking around his armpit and pulling him up so he doesn't fall.

He fists the slick material of the back of his coat tightly, fingers soaked and knuckles white from how tight he's clutching the fabric. His other arm wraps around Issei's shoulders and he's supporting Takahiro's entire weight and he doesn't even fucking _budge_.

He buries his face in Issei's warm neck and cries for an age, and Issei holds him, whispers _i've got you_ and _i’m here_ and _you’re okay_ every few minutes, quiet and firm and honest reassurances and it's everything that he has ever needed but he’s fucking greedy so it’s still not all that he wants.

They sway slightly, Issei never loosens his hold, Takahiro's shoulders stop shaking after a long while and eventually, the pounding in his head lets up. 

He exhales, and his eyes blink open. Issei is rubbing his hand up and down the long length of Takahiro's cold back, solid circles dipping up and down rhythmically, coming to a rest in the dip of his spine. 

His stretched palm and fingers take up more than half the expanse of skin there. Takahiro can feel the heat of his hand pressing against him through the thin, soaked fabric of his t-shirt, can feel his body warmth all around him.

The other arm still hooked around his armpit and holding his entire weight up, hand still cupping the back of his head.

Takahiro swallows, and Issei slips his hand away from his lower back to inside his inner jacket pocket, pulls out a hanky and uses his firm hold on his nape to tug him back gently and wipe under his eyes.

Takahiro huffs and snatches the hanky, tilts his head away and blows his nose.

Issei kisses his temple and it might as well have been a bullet.

Takahiro folds it up and cleans his face up, sticking it in his pocket when he feels marginally more human.

Issei's arm is back around his waist, steadying. The other arm never left. 

He wishes he wasn't the worst _carrying a flame for him since high school_ cliché in the world.

'Hey,' Issei whispers. His voice is barely there, but Takahiro's ears are attuned to his low spoken words, and also they're pressed together like they'd die without each other.

'Hi,' Takahiro says. He tips his head forward till his forehead hits Issei's collarbone with a light _thunk_ and he stares at the sidewalk. Issei is wearing boots.

The rain is still pouring down but somehow, it isn't so torrential anymore. It's quiet somehow, cleansing. Or maybe it's just Issei's presence.

Issei's hand slides down his arm and hesitantly threads their fingers together.

Takahiro squeezes lightly.

Issei’s shoulders sag and he squeezes back, strokes his knuckles slowly. His thumb dips to his veins, massages a line over rising skin then circling back to his knuckles in the most soothing motion Takahiro has ever known.

Takahiro looks up and examines his face. His eyes are nervous but still steady, pushing aside whatever discomfort he feels and focusing on Takahiro, putting himself aside.

He does that way too often.

His calloused thumb is still stroking at Takahiro's knuckles.

Takahiro feels like the slowest, sweetest violins are playing in his ears, a sharp cry from the violent ringing from earlier and he knows it's only better because of him. He wants to poke the mole above his eyebrow and he wants to punch him again and he wants to kiss his cheek _so_ badly.

If he was still sixteen and fearless about everything Issei he might've even done that last one.

Issei cuts through the static noise with his deep voice and says, 'You're freezing.'

 _So warm me up_ , he wants to reply.

But Issei loves someone, he reminds himself, and tugs the words back.

Takahiro stays quiet instead, gaze still stuck on his cheek. 

A droplet of rain slides down his tan skin and Takahiro follows it down his jaw, down the line of his throat and it disappears down his throat and he blinks, the flush on his cheeks damning.

Issei gently untangles himself from him, shrugs off his coat and arranges it over Takahiro's shoulders and Takahiro sighs, fits his arms through the sleeves, curls his fingers around the long cuffs. 

Issei zips it up for him, bends down to pick up the umbrella still by their feet, then straightens and holds it up, wraps his other arm around Takahiro's shoulders and just like that he starts walking them home.

They stay quiet for the whole walk, Takahiro in his coat and leaning into his side, Issei's head tilting against his.

The silence is less charged than it was earlier. Another walk home, but one secret lighter.

Takahiro knows he's still terrified by everything that's just happened but is repressing it for Takahiro's sake. 

He wishes Issei were less self-sacrificing. But he's grateful for it anyways.

  
  
  
  


They're at the doorway when he's finally gathered himself. 

Issei is twisting the key in the lock and Takahiro's eyes drop from his long, thick fingers to the keychain as it jingles lightly, a stylized creampuff matching with the cheese filled steak keychain on the desk in his room.

They'd gotten them commissioned from Yukihara-nii, Issei had insisted on paying despite all her assurances that there was no need. In the end he was so stubborn that she’d shrugged and taken the cash. He doesn't even remember if switching their favorite foods had been on purpose or accidental.

He opens the door and they step inside, toeing off their shoes. 

Takahiro takes the coat off and hangs it on the rack, moves the doormat with his toe so it soaks up the water dripping from the fabric.

He'll miss the comfort of Issei's scent around him and the warmth it gave.

They head for the bathroom, still quiet.

Takahiro's socks are soaked so he peels them off, flings them into the laundry basket. He wonders if he should take a full bath or just shower and call it a day.

It's like four am, so he decides a shower would be more appropriate. 

Issei goes for the cupboard and turns around with a towel around his neck and he tosses the other to Takahiro.

Takahiro dries off his hair and then says, 'So who is it.'

Issei, squeezing water out of his pulled up shirt, goes still.

'What,' he says. 

Takahiro furrows his brows. He pointedly doesn't look at the expanse of tanned, muscled flesh, his faint abs and taut stomach, his fucking collarbone. The pastel pink tiles of their bathroom drag out the flushed tones in Issei's skin in the most unfair manner. 

He doesn't think there was anything wrong with the question.

_Does Issei still not want him to know? Does he really not trust him enough? Fuck, is he still trying to spare his feelings does he know does he know does he-_

Issei drops the hem of his shirt and it slaps onto his skin wetly, crumpled fabric clinging to his chest.

He stares at Takahiro. 'You-?' He breaks off and swallows. 'You don't know?'

Takahiro stares back, confused out of his mind.

'No? You didn't say? And,' he blinks. 'I mean- I didn't exactly wait around and ask you.'

Issei's mouth parts and he stares. 'Then why did you get so _mad_?'

Takahiro narrows his eyes. 

_'Is_ the answer something for me to get mad about?'

Issei's eyes widen and he says, panicked, 'No! Wait- shit, for fuck's suck, Hiro, do you ever get tired of keeping me on my toes?'

Takahiro blinks. 'Huh?' he says. 

Issei shakes his head and Takahiro watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

‘I don’t understand,’ Takahiro says.

He doesn't think he's ever been this bewildered in his life.

And now he's in even more bitter pain, wondering who the fuck it could possibly be that Issei thought his anger and hurt were righteous.

Issei repeats slowly, 'Holy fuck, you _really_ don't know, do you?'

Takahiro stares at him, shirt still soaked and he should be freezing, but all he feels is feverish.

'Who _is_ it?' he asks desperately, coming forward, hands trembling. 'Who-' He breaks off and swallows, exhales, the words rush out. 'Who gets you? Is it someone I know? Do I not like them? Why haven't you told me? How'd you meet? Are they-'

 _'Don't_.,' Issei rasps. 'Please. Jesus shit, _stop it_ Hiro.'

He has one hand half up in the air gesturing for him to shut up like Takahiro had done before, and now his fingers curl loosely in the air.

He inhales and tugs the towel away from his throat, hanging it on the rack. 

Takahiro stares at him, mouth dry, heart cracked.

_who is it who is it who is it who is it who is it wh_

Issei runs his hand over his face. 'Jesus,' he says. 'Jesus, I've gotta- goddamn, Hiro. You don't know.'

Takahiro tries to swallow around the lump in his throat.

'Can you stop fucking _rubbing it in_ that you didn't trust me enough-'

'No!' Issei interrupts hoarsely. 'That's not it at all, I swear-'

'Then what?' he demands, coming in closer. 'What the fuck is it then?'

Issei doesn't say anything, his fucking mouth is parted and dark, enticing and sanguine. His eyes look so lost.

'Fucking- _say_ something you stupid fucking bastard!' Takahiro shouts.

He's so sick of Issei's silence.

His eyes burn but he won't let himself cry right now.

He chokes down a sob.

Issei's jaw sets.

His hand jerks out, grabs Takahiro's, squeezing his fingers, thumb back at his knuckles. 

'Takahiro,' he says. 'I-'

He breaks off and shuts his eyes and tips his head back as he exhales, and he looks _so_ tired and then it's his brave-face, the one that comes before his honest face.

Takahiro tries to yank his hand back.

'You fucking _asshole_ can you please just _-'_

His voice breaks.

Issei's grip is too strong, and he tugs him in closer.

Their breath mingles and Issei squeezes his hand, then opens his eyes.

They're so serious.

'Takahiro,' he says. 'I was never gonna tell you.'

Takahiro's eyes widen and he stares.

'What the fuck,' he says.

Before his brain has time to go into all the many reasons he should punch him in the face, Issei speaks again, hand sliding down and thumb rubbing distractingly at his wrist bone.

'I was never gonna tell you, ever. I would never act upon it, I'd stay shut and just let it be but, well-'

He tilts his head, referring to the look on Takahiro's face.

'You get it.'

'What the hell are you saying,' Takahiro says.

'I never even speak about it. Nobody knows, except whoever's figured it out, because it's- pretty easy to tell. So... I'm still not gonna tell you.'

He says this, then nods, as if reassuring himself that he's correct, that he's made the right decision.

Takahiro is the deepest shade of red, anger clouding his brain, he's seeing Issei through a haze of ruby.

'What the fuck,' he repeats.

'Yeah,' Issei says confidently. 'Yeah, you're going to figure it out now.'

Takahiro stares at him.

'Am I supposed to _guess_?' he demands. He tries to pull his hand back again, and Issei's hold on him is still too strong. 'Jesus, how sick- fucking Christ, you're gonna make me stand here and _guess_ who you're in love with _-'_

'No,' Issei says. 'You know already.'

'No the _fuck_ I don't.'

'Yes you do,' Issei says easily, calmly. 'You always do.'

He makes a frustrated noise. 'No I fucking don't, Issei, how the actual fuck would I even-'

'You _know_ me Hiro, you know this,' he says.

Takahiro stares at him, heartbroken. 'I don't,' he starts. He stops and gulps, trying desperately not to cry, and attempts to pull his hand away again.

Issei only grips tighter, bringing it up to his chest so Takahiro's knuckles rest against his soaked shirt and Takahiro can hear his heart, beating wildly.

'Sweetheart,' Issei says lowly, 'You _know_.'

His voice sounds reverent, adoring. It's too deep for Takahiro to handle.

Takahiro swallows. 'You-'

'Look at me.'

Issei's other hand comes up to cup the side of his head, calloused thumb stroking his cheekbone, fingers in his hair. 

He tugs his face closer and now the red of Takahiro's world is fading to pink, matching his flushed cheeks.

Everything is suddenly slow, hushed, he can hear every breath Issei takes.

_His eyes have that look in them._

The frail, vulnerable, painfully honest and raw and tender look that Takahiro has been chasing for a decade, the look that he doesn't fucking understand, the look that he hates because it isn't for him.

It's being directed at him like it has been for years, as it was before, nothing is different but for one thing.

His eyes, they're not distant or blurry anymore. They're clear, dark, focused.

Looking at him.

'Oh,' he says dumbly.

Issei's beautiful dark eyes are a little amused now, a faint grin curling his lips. 

_'Oh_ ,' he repeats lightly, almost teasingly.

Takahiro stares up at him, mouth parted, feeling as bare as if he were a skeleton.

Issei strokes his cheekbone again.

'There it is,' Issei says, sounding satisfied. 'There's my boy. Knew you'd figure it out.'

Takahiro wets his lips, and swallows the lump in his throat.

The blur he's seeing through is a hazy, rosy golden now.

'I'm- you-,' He stops and wets his split lips. 

Issei watches him with his dark eyes, the look on his face is so fond and adoring.

'You?' he taunts lightly.

'I'm Mary Jane,' he says, wonderstruck. It's the only thing that trips it's way out of his mouth as it dawns upon him that _oh, oh holy shit._

Issei, because he's Issei, understands immediately and chuckles, soft and rich.

'No you fucking moron,' he says, eyes lidded, dimple popping. 'You're my Johnny Storm.'

And that. That horrible, gay little joke, the dumb reference that he knew Takahiro would get. The comics they'd spent hours poring over in high school, sitting on Takahiro's bed with their limbs tangled, laughing at the stupid banter that was so very much like their own.

That little joke seals it for him.

Takahiro's eyes widen and he says quietly, disbelievingly, 'Holy fuck, it's _me_.' 

He's suddenly vividly aware of how close they're standing, toes touching and the soles of his feet are cold against the bathroom tiles. 

He leans in closer.

Issei strokes his heated cheek once more, only making it burn hotter, ruby red. He leans into it. 

Then Issei drops his thumb and exhales raggedly. 

Then he drops his hands away from Takahiro entirely and takes a step back.

His grin is lopsided, rueful, twisting his mouth. 'There it is, I guess.'

Takahiro can't stop staring. 'You-' He stops, feeling delirious. 'What?'

His cheek and the side of his head feels cold now, his wrist that was in Issei's hold is bare.

'You shower first,' Issei says. 'I'll go order something. You haven't eaten all day.'

The sentence makes no sense for a moment, and then it hits Takahiro.

Issei doesn't know. 

His shoulder brushes against Takahiro's as he walks past him.

_Oh shit, he doesn't know._

Takahiro turns around and he's already left the bathroom.

'Fucking- wait!'

He follows, doesn't really register the puddles on the wooden tiled floor of their living room. They'd left water dripping all over.

He slips and almost falls.

Issei turns and he's at his side in an instant, catching him by the elbows as Takahiro grasps at his biceps, trying to steady himself.

'Jesus, I told you to shower, Hiro, for once can you just do what I say?' he says half-scoldingly. 

He makes sure he's steady then steps back again. 

And before he can run away and slip out of his grasp, Takahiro grabs his shirt collar and pulls him in and crushes their lips together.

It's perfect. 

Issei's mouth is hot and plush and amazing against his bitten, cracked lips. He responds almost immediately, kissing back with a kind of urgency that has Takahiro's head spinning, his hands sliding into Takahiro's hair to angle it better and Takahiro almost _whines,_ heat blooming inside his chest.

His hands aren't clumsy like they had been when they'd kissed the first time. 

He kisses him harder, needier, almost feverish because he never thought he'd get to have this.

Issei whispers, 'Slow _down,'_ right against his lips, and his hand fists, tightens in Takahiro's hair for a split second as he bites down against Takahiro's split bottom lip and his mouth goes slack on a moan at the sharp mix of pain and pleasure, lashes fluttering.

Issei deepens the kiss, a hand dipping to wrap, big and rough around his nape as he kisses him slower, softer, so tender, tongue licking into his mouth and Takahiro's world flips, fingers tightening around Issei's bicep and it's probably hurting him but he can't find it in himself to care because he’s kissing the love of his life.

Issei's hand slides down to cup his hip and steady him, thumb hooking in the belt loop of his still rain-soaked jeans.

They pull back and there's the thinnest string of saliva connecting their mouths.

Takahiro keeps his eyes shut, lips still parted and tingling.

'Wha' was that for,' Issei slurs, mouth as sloppy as Takahiro's feels.

Takahiro blinks his eyes open and stares at him, at a loss for words.

His eyes are blown, his mouth looks wet and slick and sinful. His eyebrows are drawn together, two dark strokes of brown on tan.

He's like an oil painting.

'Takahiro,' Issei says. 'If this is- Like, if- if you want me, even just a little bit, if all you want is to fuck or all you want is to feel good, feel loved- fuck it, I'll take it, Hiro. Even if it's just this, I-' he breaks off, voice hoarse. 

Takahiro's brain catches up slowly. 'Issei-?'

'No, like-' Issei keeps going, eyes dark and honest and raw, 'I mean it. I'll- I'll take anything, Hiro. It might seem a little pathetic to you, but- I'll take whatever you want, whatever you're willing to offer, however little it is, I just-'

Takahiro arches up, kisses him quiet.

'I love you,' he whispers into the kiss. 

Issei's mouth, which had _already_ begun to kiss back feverishly, goes still at the words. 

He lingers, then drops back onto his heels and licks his lips reflexively, tongue chasing Issei's feel, his taste. 

Issei stares at him, big hand still threaded in his hair.

 _'What_?' he says, sounding shocked. His eyes are almost completely black.

'It's you, Issei,' he says, hushed, voice barely audible, because he's sharing his deepest secret that nobody knows.

'Of course it's you. It's you I'm in love with, it's you I fit with, it's you I think about all the time, it's you I want to die next to when we're old as fuck, it's you I've been trying for ages to get over, and it's you I'll _never_ be over because.. it's _you_. Who the hell else could it be _?_ '

He feels Issei's heart pounding unbelievably fast against his fingers still curled loosely in the damp fabric of his faded old band shirt.

'You love me,' Issei mouths silently.

Takahiro beams, wide and helpless and he nods in confirmation, almost vibrating.

Issei's jaw goes slack. 'You _love_ me,' he repeats, awed. 

Takahiro has to kiss him again.

'I love you,' Issei says thickly, heartbreakingly quiet when they pull back for air. 'I love you, I love you, I lo-' 

He says it over and over, again and again and then he almost lifts Takahiro up with the force of how hard he swoops him up.

Takahiro laughs into his mouth, pure joy.

'You _love_ me!' Issei repeats. 'Holy fuck-'

'I need to _shower,_ asshole,' Takahiro says, cheeks hurting from how hard he's smiling.

Issei laughs out loud. 'Shut the fuck up, you're so fucking annoying. You're- you're so much, Hiro, you're everything to me, when can I propose?'

Takahiro, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms around his shoulders and the happiest he's ever been, rain soaked and sleep deprived and hungry as fuck as he is, says, 'Hm. After we shower together should be enough of a time gap.' 

Issei kisses him again and nips at his bottom lip, hand sliding to cup the back of his neck and pull him down closer and presses two kisses, one after the other to his eyelids, then his cheeks, then his nose and back to his mouth.

'I'm in love with you,' he says into it, beaming so wide that it's hard for Takahiro to kiss back. 

Takahiro whispers, 'I love you so, so much-' and whatever else he tries to say is swallows by Issei's perfect fucking mouth.

They get to the shower eventually. Once he's ordered their usual from their favorite Indian place and kissed him a billion times, Issei steps in, shucking off his pants and Takahiro watches his tan back come into view as he pulls his shirt off, muscles shifting under his skin.

He tugs off his own clothes, steps into the shower and wraps himself around Issei, chest to his back and Issei grasps his hands, kissing his fingertips. Takahiro pinches his lower lip and feels Issei huff amusedly against his hands, and buries his smile into his back.

He's already set the water to a high temperature, and it starts raining down. 

Takahiro kisses the skin between his shoulder blades and pulls one hand back, rests his fingertips against the small of his back, thumb pressing into the dimple at the bottom of his spine, absolutely _revels_ in the goosebumps as they rise.

He doesn't dip down lower, cheeks pink.

'You're a tease,' Issei says, and turns around in his arms.

Takahiro tips his head back, warm water riveting down his frame and gazes up at him.

Issei's neck is bent, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly so Takahiro won't have to arch up. 

His hand comes up to poke at the mole above Issei's left eyebrow, because he's allowed to do that now.

Issei's hair sticks to his forehead, oil black curls wet again and stark against his tanned skin.

His thick eyebrows are relaxed, uncreased, and Takahiro braces his hand against his shoulder and leans up and kisses the skin between them.

'You're _so_ sweet,' Issei says, voice muffled from the shower overhead and water drips down from the side of his mouth, gathers in the jut of his collarbone.

Takahiro drags his hand down, flat against his pecs and shoves him against the wall to kiss him on his laughing mouth.

Issei washes his hair.

His hands are large and warm and massage his skull, he uses his own shampoo and only notices half a minute late.

'I don't mind,' Takahiro tells him, and kisses his soaped up cheek.

He scrunches his nose and spits out the taste and Issei laughs again.

His fingers are long and calloused from years of volleyball and work and the cuts he's accidentally given himself while cutting up vegetables or fruit because he's ridiculously clumsy with a knife.

He's so gentle, stroking behind Takahiro's ear and scratching at the hairs on his nape.

His hands cradling Takahiro's skull is the most intimate he's ever been with anyone.

Takahiro beams at him when he's done and he kisses Takahiro's temple, and then groans and sticks his tongue out at the shampoo in his mouth.

Takahiro laughs helplessly and doesn't think anyone's ever had a shower like this, legs pressed together and laughing. 

Issei soaps him up with his big hands, touching his skin like he can't get enough of it, like he'd die without it. It's so warming, so tender and reverent and worshipping and Takahiro feels so fucking _loved._

He turns him around gently and squeezes his shoulders, thumbs digging out the knots in his upper back and it's amazing, his eyes are almost rolling back from how perfect his hands are. Issei drops a kiss to his nape when he's done.

He drops to his knees when he reaches the lower half of Takahiro's body, grinning up at him crooked and wolfish as he cups his ass and lets his big hands slowly massage and grope their way down the backs of Takahiro's thighs, making him shiver.

The sight of him, broad shouldered and on his knees for _Takahiro,_ has his cheeks burning and he pretends it's from the heat of the shower, steam curling around them and fogging up the mirror.

Takahiro curls a hand into his hair as he kisses Takahiro's hip bones, one after the other before lathering them with soap.

'No sex on the first date, bad boy,' he teases.

'But you _deserve_ a blowjob,' Issei says, blinking up at him so seriously that Takahiro has to laugh, tipping his head back and Issei beams.

Takahiro kisses him in thanks once he's done, then returns the favor, squirts Issei's green apples scented shampoo into his palm and rubs it into his thick head of hair, reveling in how thick and lovely it feels under his fingers and reveling in the pleased look in Issei's eyes. 

He ruffles it, flecks of shampoo landing all the way to the mirror, shapes a mohawk with his fingers and asks what the hell is the difference between red apples and green apples anyways.

'Green apples smell better,' Issei says, and Takahiro replies, 'That doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about apples to dispute it.' 

Issei is trying to shut him up throughout the quote and he giggles as Issei tries to cover his mouth and pull his hair, so childish for a man that's 6'5 and pushing thirty.

He's so pretty, and Takahiro kisses him again once the soap is washed off his face.

Issei's hands cup his waist, trying not to slip away and he's been steadily pushing at the tap so their bodies don't get used to the temperature and the water stays hot. 

It's the perfect amount of heat as Takahiro kisses him lazily, lips sliding together. They've already perfected their rhythm.

Takahiro soaps him up too, snorting at the way he giggles involuntarily every time he touches a ticklish spot. It's unbearably cute and he's so glad he's allowed to kiss him for it now.

Issei's eyes go dark when Takahiro kneels for him, huffing out an embarrassed laugh as Takahiro blinks up at him as prettily as he can.

He's gentle with his body as he lathers it with soap, and does his best to not suck his cock. 

He gets up quickly, cheeks red. He's too tired and hungry for Issei to just stand there like that, with his face and his body that Takahiro loves.

Issei strokes his cheek and kisses him gently, slowly, lips sliding to mouth at his jaw and pepper wet kisses against the line of his throat, mouth buried in his neck as his hands stroke up and down his waist, thumbs dragging teasingly at his ribs.

They stay in the shower till the water goes lukewarm.

  
  
  
  


He has to physically stop Issei from hand feeding him as they sit on the couch, legs tangled.

'Get your sick, greasy little fingers away from me-'

'But _Matsukawa-kun_ ,' Issei croons. 'We're _married_ now aren’t we, why can't I spoil you a little-'

Takahiro smacks his fingers away and spits, 'Hand feeding is unhygienic and gay as hell and _I_ have self-respect. And if we're married, why are you calling me by my last name?'

Issei grins at him, eyes crinkled and smile lopsided. They're both wearing sweats and his fuzzy chest is distracting Takahiro a ridiculous amount but he keeps yawning so there’s no point.

They have the rest of their lives, after all. 

'What can I say, my last name is just sexier,' he says, then shakes his head abruptly. 'Actually I'm lying, I love you, Hanamaki Takahiro, that is the single prettiest name on the planet.'

Takahiro flushes again and whines, 'Please just eat your chicken tikka and stop flirting with me, I already told you I'm taken.'

That makes Issei laugh out loud and almost choke on his chicken.

'And you _still_ haven't proposed,' Takahiro says, shaking his head. 'Slacker.'

Issei downs a glass of water and says, cheeks red, 'Shut the fuck up, you and I both know that if I propose without a ring you'll punch me. Again.'

Takahiro chews around the warm _paratha_ and squints at him. 'All I'm getting here is that you don't have a ring?'

Issei leans in and kisses his cheek with his oil slick mouth and Takahiro groans. 

  
  
  
  


'I do, actually,' he says nonchalantly, ten minutes later, when they're putting the dishes in the sink for future Issei-and-Takahiro to handle.

Takahiro dries his hand on the hand towel hanging on the hook by the sink and cups his cheek, tugging him in close.

The kitchen light is off and the streetlight has been turned off too, the only source of light is the fridge light, washing the room with white that makes Issei seem holy.

He hovers right in front of his lips. 'Repeat that for me?'

Issei winds his hands around his waist and looks down at him adoringly, his eyes almost shy, amused as they are at his antics.

His curly fringe falls into his eyes as he says tenderly, 'I do have a ring.'

Takahiro's mouth parts and he gazes at him. 

He's kidding, he's gotta be. 

'I'm not kidding,' Issei says. His hand is cupping Takahiro's side, just above the dip of his waist. He shrugs lightly to distract from how nervous he is. 'I bought it years ago. It's in my sock drawer. I'll give it to you tomorrow.'

The influx of information is too much. Takahiro kisses him. 

'What if I want it now?' he says breathlessly when they pull back. 

Issei wets his mouth. His eyes are the loveliest mix of intense and hazy and pleased. His lips curl into a delighted smile.

'Then I'll give it to you now, I guess,' he says, voice dazed.

Takahiro grins widely at him, chest so full he feels it might burst from _love, love, love._

'That's okay,' he replies. 'Give it to me tomorrow and I'll pretend to be surprised.'

Issei kisses the corner of his lip. 'You're so generous,' he says into his skin. 

Takahiro hums and yanks at his hair till he groans. 'Yep. That's why I'll let you sleep in my bed today.'

Issei grabs his wrist, threads their fingers together and squeezes his hand. 'And if I want us to sleep in my bed?' 

His voice is barely a whisper, like he's almost embarrassed about saying that.

Takahiro kisses him again, nipping at his lip till the kiss deepens and goes on longer than he thought it would. 

They part for air and Issei's tan cheeks are so flushed and his eyes are dilated and Takahiro wishes they never had to pull away to breathe.

He wants to live and die on Issei's mouth.

They sleep in Issei's bed, sheets pulled up around his shoulders, lying face to face for a few minutes until Issei says in his funniest voice, ‘Oh yeah, baby, sleepover time.’

They start giggling helplessly and then Issei says, 'You look _so_ cute with the sheets up to your chin like that.'

Takahiro stares at him, red creeping onto his cheeks. 'You're a fucking freak,' he replies, voice high pitched, and Issei peppers kisses all over his scrunched up fake-irritated face.

He throws an arm around Issei's side and presses into his warm chest, smelling like his soap and Issei buries his face in Takahiro's neck and kisses his skin gently, lazily till he's too tired to move.

Takahiro calls him a nerd and Issei calls him a stupid ugly bitch and he laughs so hard he almost pushes Issei off the bed.

His last coherent thought is that he's done with overthinking. He's never thinking again. All he's gonna do for the rest of his life is kiss Issei's mouth.

They fall asleep with their legs tangled and their chests pressed as close together as possible, arms wrapped around each other like children as the sun rises.

  
  
  
  


+

(he proposes to him the next evening as the sun sets, ten minutes after they wake up.

he's on both knees and calls him his church and his god and everything he’s worshipped since he was sixteen and takahiro cries harder than he ever has.

they're on the fire escape because takahiro had been telling him how he'd left without him noticing and he has takahiro laughing through his tears throughout his soppy little speech because he slips little jokes in there and admits that he added funny bits because he hates seeing takahiro cry.

then he waggles his eyebrows and says he wouldn’t mind seeing him cry under the right circumstances and takahiro bends down to kiss his forehead.

he spends a whole minute making fun of the speech afterwards till issei gets mock irritated and shoves the box in his hand and gets up and tells him to try it himself, if he's the expert.

takahiro kneels and describes the moments he fell in love with him and issei's knees get shaky so he drops down too, and strokes his long fingers through his hair as takahiro hiccups his way through the rest of his impromptu speech because oh, it is kinda hard after all.

issei kisses him quiet when his voice breaks and it's the longest sweetest kiss in the world.

yuuji calls him and they put him on speaker as he complains about the shit time he's had as middleman until he gets bored and asks them when they'll be over the honeymoon phase.

issei pulls the phone from takahiro’s hand and tells him, right into the mic, to tell akinori that he doesn’t have to be mad anymore and then tells yuuji to go fuck himself and then hangs up and then he kisses takahiro's laughing mouth and murmurs that he doesn't think he'll ever be over it.

it's embarrassing to admit it, but takahiro doesn't think he'll ever be over it either.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/caandlelit/status/1328067565835472897) and my [matsuhana playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/74RiRixmdIovsGnL2MWewq?si=5ADTbHz2Rsq_fh-hXhme4g)  
> thankyou for reading please comment !!!


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